A/N: This helped jolt me out of a writing funk and was fun to write. I was feeling very sappy when this happened, but I came to like the result, so here it is.

Comments are always immensely appreciated. Just to be clear for those who read my other stuff: this isn't a part of Steam.

America pressed his warm cheek against Japan's cool forehead and shifted slightly so as to kiss it. Looking down at the sleeping form tickled him.

The blond was on his side, an arm around Japan's thin waist, their legs loosely entangled. He smiled as he remembered what they had done to tire the Asian nation so thoroughly. Japan became quite vigorous behind closed doors, certainly uncharacteristically bold, although he would have no explicit talk of it outside of the bedroom. What happened between the sheets stayed between the sheets. Japan had never become less attached to propriety. It had taken America quite a while to understand that for Japan, the private self, and the public self, were very different things, but both also very real.

The sleepy America rubbed his own sore neck briefly, fingers trailing over the bite mark in his pink flesh. He dropped his hand from his throat to rest on the smooth stomach beside him. He loved Japan's skin: its texture, its color, and even its taste. Apparently Japan felt the same.

He wished he could wake him, but knew that doing so would only make him feel mean. Any country that works, thinks, and worries as hard as Japan deserved a good night's sleep in America's book. But none of that changed the fact that he wanted nothing more than to have the nation's thin taught thighs wrapped tightly around his hips.

Japan's breathing had firmly ingrained itself as America's favorite sound, and sleep was never hard to come by when he got to wrap around him, or vice-versa, and let that sweet steady sound wash over him; so he figured that he could settle for that for the night, since more love making was not on the menu.

He let his head drop back to the pillow. Sometimes as he lay there at night besides a sleeping Japan, when the dark head fell to the side to face him, like now, and the smooth hair fell across that peaceful face, America would lightly blow it away. The way Japan would almost frown and crinkle his sleeping nose at the small cool breeze was priceless.

He let their bodies relax together and sighed happily, readying himself for sleep. As he drifted off, perfectly content to join his paramour in dreams, he congratulated himself for not having woken Japan selfishly. His beloved sun had set for the night, and should be allowed not to rise 'till morning.